


Second Chances (a short story)

by CathyFowl



Series: Thedosian Works In Progress [9]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossover, Declarations Of Love, Drinking, Falling In Love, Halward Pavus' A+ Parenting, Internal Conflict, Kaimelar, M/M, Magical Ailments, Meddling, Original World Crossover, Power of Love, Slow Burn, heating up XD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-28 11:05:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15047483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CathyFowl/pseuds/CathyFowl
Summary: Paul Lockwood, the General of the army of the Kaimelara and Captain of the Queen's personal guard, comes to Thedas with his Queen and lover to help the Divine end the Mage-Templar war at the Conclave. After the explosion, however, he finds himself lost without his Queen, stuck with a Mark upon his hand, titled the Herald of a prophet he had barely heard of. At first, he's helping the Inquisition out of a sense of duty. But after meeting a certain Tevinter mage, he faces the ultimate dilemma of the heart. He's loyalty belongs to his Queen, but his heart has other ideas. He slowly, but surely, dying without his Queen's Love feeding his life essence. How could Paul let himself fall in love with a practical stranger, let alone have anything to offer him, when Paul's time is running out.





	Second Chances (a short story)

**Author's Note:**

> A short "taste" of Second Chances, a story on Hiatus, because I got greedy and couldn't tackle it as a big, sprawling epic.

Humour in the face of peril. It was the first impression Paul had about Dorian.

That and the other man's gorgeous looks. Bull was right though, you had to be careful with the pretty ones.

But Paul was snared, with the first sentence the Tevinter spoke. His voice, his flippant bravery, as he kept the demons at bay, fighting next to a rift, all alone.

Alone. That solitude permeated most things about Dorian. He was not built for it and he sought company as often as he could. But he did not trust easily. His trust had been betrayed before and now it was hard for him to believe in others again. There was always a wall, clad in the soft silk of fine words and jokes and overconfidence. But Paul knew this game, he'd seen his Queen go through something similar, and he sorely wished he could ease the hidden pain.

Finding out the truth about the betrayal made Paul angry. It might've been just the simple outrage over what could've been done to Dorian. It might’ve been Paul's lack of memory of his own family. He only knew the Court and the Castle, but they were family and family was Sanctum. Family should've been the only part of the world that loved you, that accepted you no matter what. Family should've been a safe haven. And it wasn't only denied to Dorian, it outright turned against him. It took all of Paul's self-control not to punch Magister Pavus in the face, or choke him until there was no breath in his lungs with which to speak words that hurt Dorian.

They returned to Skyhold in oppressive silence. Dorian, thinking Paul found him disgusting for his preference in male lovers; Paul, hiding his untamed rage under a perfect, cold mask of indifference. He missed the calming presence of his Queen. He missed the teasing, the gentle, grounding touches. And now he also had to hold back from seeking the same comforts from another. From Dorian. But the man had been hurt enough and Paul couldn't promise anything. He didn't even have his own life to offer up.

It was after Adamant, when Paul fell from the broken bridge and Dorian was left behind, to worry, to grieve, to hope against all hope... It was after the battle and after they've dealt with the Wardens, that Dorian sought him out and, with his sharp tongue and quick wit, in his roundabout way, inquired after his well-being. Paul could barely stop his hand from reaching out, could barely stop his arms from encircling that trim waist, could barely hold his tongue from declaring love and affection.

But he couldn't, he mustn't. Dorian deserved more than half a man. Even if his Queen was truly dead and gone, even if he was forever stuck in this strange land with its strange magic... Paul was dying, slowly but surely. Either the Anchor or his own magic running out was sure to kill him and he would not drag Dorian down with him. He refused to cause more unhappiness to this wonderful man, who had stood with him in a castle overrun with demons and red lyrium, stuck in a future more horrifying than Paul had ever seen. He would not hurt this man, who had fought by his side against the odds, who had brought them back to save what has not yet been lost.

He refused, he refused, _he refused_.

Yet, his hands shook as he balled them into tight fists by his side to prevent them from reaching out to touch, to caress the soft, sweet smelling skin, like rich earth and sunlight. It was a physical ache in his heart, throbbing along with his Seal and his Mark.

But he couldn't say 'no' either.

He couldn't say no to the dance and he couldn't say no to the soft kiss that ended the night at Halamshiral. Paul couldn't say no, because he was not built to lie. Lying was for the Shadows and the Darkness. Not even white lies were to leave his lips and so he couldn't say no.

"May I have this dance, my dear Inquisitor?"

_You may have a thousand dances and a thousand more._

"Yes."

"Would you mind terribly if I kissed you?"

_I would never mind your kiss, your touch, I would never mind your smile and your laughter. I'd give everything for your happiness._

"No."

Paul would've gone with Dorian to his chambers that night. Heady with the rush of battles won, wine and decadent food, music and dancing. And the warm touch of Dorian's hand on his face, the sweet taste of wine on his lips, the soft tickle of his most ridiculous, yet charming moustache. Paul would've gone with him, because he couldn't say no.

The next day, Leliana received word of a possible sighting of his Queen.

 

It was Bull who had dragged Paul to the Tavern, to dull his ache with alcohol. Paul didn't approve of the idea, but thought, at least the company might serve as a distraction.

A distraction from his pain. He had mourned, he had just about made peace with his new life. With its loneliness, with its hardships, with its shortness. And now, a glimpse of hope, that might just be his undoing. Because his heart no longer only beat for his Queen. It had been stolen by the charming Altus, with his easy smiles and deep hurts, oh so well masked behind bravado and self-assuredness.

So Paul thought the Tavern would be a good distraction. And he was wrong.

Because _he_ was there. Dorian, sitting in a corner, in animated conversation with the Chargers. Bull smirked behind Paul and he felt his guts tighten. It was a setup, of course. How blind he'd been in his distress. He forgot that they don't understand. How could they? And they’d just wanted to help. The heated tension between Paul and Dorian was obvious. The reason behind their distance could’ve been seen as stubbornness or shy hesitation. Paul decided to take Bull on his offer of some strange liquor called Dragon's Piss and tried to drown out his heart's desperate cries.

He drank the third tankard of the foul liquor and gritted his teeth to fight again the burn in his throat. He was being reckless, wasting precious healing power on fighting the strong alcohol. His system was too sufficient to get drunk. Yet as the Seal drew more from his life energy, to counter the results of his bad choices, he’d only grown more tired and irritable.

It was a joking remark from Dorian that became the last straw. Paul could no longer stand the flirting, however innocent or not it might’ve been. He could no longer keep his smiles, he could no longer stand the nudges and the jokes and he could no longer even look at the other man. Getting lost in his dark, glossy hair, or his pale, bright eyes, it caused Paul physical pain. It simply hurt too much to stay.

He stood abruptly and turned to leave.

"Wait," Dorian was up, and surprisingly stable considering he'd been putting away quite a few glasses of wine. "Inquisitor, wait!"

But Paul could not, any longer. He marched out of the tavern and through the courtyard. He would sleep on his balcony tonight. Sing silently to the foreign stars about the sorrows of his heart. The moonlight would carry his grief of second chances lost.

"I said, wait!" Dorian's hand closed around his wrist and Paul violently jerked his hand free.

"Leave me alone!" He couldn't deal with this right now. He felt so raw, so vulnerable. He couldn't give Dorian the kindness he deserved. He couldn't... he just couldn't...

"Why?" Dorian asked, the frustration boiling in him for the past several months finally breaking free. "Is it because I am a Tevinter pariah? Is it because I'm an evil mage? Why?!?"

"Because I'm not free to give myself!" Paul burst out.

"Wha-what?" Dorian's anger stuttered and stalled in confusion. "What do you mean, not free?" He sucked in a sudden breath. "Am I a distraction from your duties, dear Inquisitor?" He all but spat the words.

"You don’t understand," Paul ground his teeth. "How could you ever understand," he said while advancing on the other man, backing him into the courtyard wall. Dorian's eyes widened at whatever he saw in Paul's expression.

"I am no mere human," Paul began. "I am not some noble to keep up appearances. I am not some mage to run from Templars. And I am not a free man to love unthinkingly."

Dorian paled at his words, but Paul pressed on.

"I am the General of Her Highness Queen Fagora. I am the First Knight of the Light. I am Kaimelar. I am made from death and called to eternal life by the grace of my Queen. I am remade by her imagination and boundless love. I am granted a Second Chance at life by her side. I _belong_ to her. You know not of what you ask of me when you seek my company. I am not free to follow my traitorous heart."

Dorian was shaking, staring at Paul, eyes wide and breath coming too quickly. He had scared the Altus and regretted it in the sudden calm that washed over him after speaking his heavy truths. Paul stepped away slowly, dropping his arms at his side and breaking eye contact.

"Please," he whispered into the moonlight. "Don't take on my burden without thought." And with that, he turned, meaning to leave for his chambers, to break apart in his now familiar solitude... Until he heard the softly whispered word.

"....Amatus..."

It stabbed through his heart, bringing its rhythm to a frenzied race.

No, it wasn't possible. It couldn't be possible! But in that moment, the ancient kaimelar magic stirred and answered the call.

Paul clutched at his heart and turned around so quickly that he startled Dorian. He covered the distance between them in two strides and was pressing against the other man with his whole body, hands shaking as he raised them to cup Dorian's cheeks. Paul hesitated.

"Say it again," he breathed, his voice shaking even in its whisper. "Please."

Dorian drew a hitching breath. "Amatus...?"

Paul's lips covered his and there was no hesitation anymore. The briefest touch, as his hands settled on Dorian’s face, brought bright light sparking through his veins. Each touch of their lips, each taste of his tongue, brought magic coursing through Paul. Love, he was Loved!

He didn't remember their way to his chambers, he was only aware of Dorian in his arms. Eager, pliant, hungry, greedy. Paul lavished a thousand kisses on the other man, until Dorian was shuddering apart from too much pleasure. He reached for Paul and Paul pulled him into his arms where he guarded Dorian’s sleep. His heart, his Love. Amatus, _Beloved_.

 


End file.
